


The Lion, The Witcher, and The Hedgehog

by Llama1412



Series: Cintra Happily Ever After [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: An assassination attempt at a Cintran Banquet drives Geralt to accompany Pavetta and Duny as a bodyguard while they stay at an isolated beach resort. Meanwhile, Queen Calanthe is forced to reach out to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers for help with the investigation. Jaskier shadows Yennefer as she tries to uncover the truth, and Eist does his best to keep Calanthe off of the war path.Part of the Cintra Happily Ever After 'verse but can be read alone.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Duny/Pavetta (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Duny/Pavetta (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Cintra Happily Ever After [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697593
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Cintra Happily Ever After ‘verse, but all you need to know is that Calanthe didn’t let Geralt just fuck off after he declared the Law of Surprise and Jaskier and Calanthe are old friends (she calls him Julian, because she thinks naming yourself after a Buttercup is dumb). So Geralt and Jaskier regularly return to Cintra and have been involved in raising Ciri.
> 
> Also, I’m hella polyamorous and so is everyone in this fic. There may be more pairings, I haven't fully decided.

Geralt was  _ not _ looking forward to the Midsummer Banquet Cintra was hosting. Mostly because he was being forced to attend – and not as a background bodyguard this time. No, this time, he had to sit in a place of honor as “the Young Princess’s Father of Surprise”.

It was shaping up to be an uncomfortable experience for everyone. Not least because the “young princess” was five years old and now fully capable of both running and dodging their attempts to pick her up  _ and _ screaming at the top of her lungs when she didn’t get what she wanted. Geralt’s head was throbbing before the festivities even started as Pavetta, Duny, and several servants chased the naked child to try to get her dressed for the Banquet.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, and when Ciri started running towards him, clearly intending to make a break for it between his legs and through the door, he splayed the fingers of his free hand towards the ground and cast  _ Yrden.  _ A purple circle lit up on the floor around him and just in front of Ciri. Most children, when something unexpected lights up in front of them, go investigate it, but Ciri was clearly on a mission and she kept charging. Unfortunately for her, as soon as she crossed into the circle, magic slowed her down dramatically and Geralt was able to catch her wrist in his hand.

Already exhausted, even though it was mid-afternoon, Geralt looked Ciri in the eye. “Please put on your clothes.” 

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Princess of Cintra, took a deep breath and Geralt could see the screaming tantrum coming at him full force.

“If you put them on and wear them for the  _ entire _ banquet, you can ride a pony.” Geralt bargained desperately.

Magically the tears that had been gathering in her eyes vanished and suddenly Ciri was bouncing in place, fully content. “Pony!”

“Yeah, pony.” Geralt half-heartedly raised his fist in a cheer. “But first, pants.”

Ciri narrowed her eyes at him. “You promise I’ll get to ride a pony?”

“If I have to find one myself, I promise. Now  _ please,  _ put on some pants?”

With matching stressed and exhausted faces, Pavetta and Duny corralled their headstrong child into a shirt and trousers that were finely-made, likely cost a fortune, and would also likely be dirty and unsalvageable by the end of the evening. Geralt still didn’t understand why she couldn’t just wear hardy, durable clothing, but then, Geralt still didn’t understand why  _ he _ couldn’t wear his armor.

At least his clothing fit this time. It still horrified him that his bedroom in the Cintran castle had a closet full of tailored designer clothes that probably cost more than his last seven contracts combined. Especially because he typically only stayed in Cintra for no more than a week at a time, except in winter when he stayed the entire season.

Geralt rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. The pounding pain in his head was receding without the shrill screaming of a child, but he still did not feel at all ready to be gawked at during a big fancy feast where he wasn’t even allowed to eat like a normal person, but had to use special utensils and cups. After six years of wintering at the castle and visiting Cintra intermittently while on the Path, you’d think the nobles would have gotten used to him. Or even that he might have gotten used to  _ them.  _

And yet, every time he was forced into one of these fancy parties, Geralt could  _ feel  _ the contempt with which the gathered nobility regarded him, in his ‘place of honor’ at the Queen’s table. 

The one saving point of the evening was that Cintran ale was strong. And Jaskier may frown at him over how many times his cup was filled, but the bard couldn’t do anything about it from his position with the musicians. These gatherings could not be tolerated sober, and Geralt wasn’t about to try.

At least he was seated at the end of the head table, next to Mousesack. His old friend was the only thing that kept Geralt sane during these parties, though the druid mostly just found his air of misery and woe amusing.

“Stop brooding into your ale and try the pheasant,” Mousesack said.

“I’m not brooding,” Geralt said broodingly. He did serve himself the pheasant, though.

On the other side of Mousesack, Eist chuckled. He had definitely drank just as much ale as Geralt, but somehow he managed to make intoxication look charming. 

Geralt himself mostly looked like what he was: a drunk Witcher very out of place in a royal banquet.

So he wasn’t exactly paying close attention to anyone’s goings on. His survival instincts could never truly be turned off, and ingrained habits still made him take note of who approached him and who didn’t. But he had no reason to be on guard, no reason to think hard about anything except which dish would go best with his ale.

Later, he would curse himself for that, for letting his guard down. He had gotten careless, let himself relax, and the world had decided to remind him why he never could.

If he’d been two seconds slower…

The problem was the server. There were a specific number of servants who were trained to serve the head table. Geralt had been visiting Cintra for 6 years – he knew all of their faces. So when a maidservant he didn’t recognize passed behind his seat carrying a pitcher, it did penetrate his drunken mind. Not as quickly as he would have wished, but he  _ did  _ notice. By the time he was turning in his seat to look at her, she was already walking away, the empty pitcher dangling from her fingers.

Geralt focused his senses and sniffed deeply. It took a moment to parse through all the sensory input, but finally, he followed the pitcher’s smell of hot baked clay until he caught the sharp scent of alcohol mixed with hints of black cherry. Wine, he realized. Very few people drank wine at events like this, not when Cintran ale was renowned for its potency. The only one at the head table would be– 

Geralt launched into motion before anyone around him realized anything was amiss. It had only been half a minute since the serving maid had left, but Pavetta was already raising the glass to her lips when Geralt snatched it from her. She jerked in surprise, but Geralt was already pointing at the quickly retreating maid and calling the guards into motion. The banquet hall broke out in a clamor as nobles panicked. The part of Geralt’s mind that was learning what it meant to be responsible for a child was glad Ciri had been excused to bed half an hour earlier.

“Witcher! What is the meaning of this?” Calanthe barked, and at the sound of her booming voice, the hall fell into silence.

Geralt was still holding the goblet he’d taken from Pavetta and he held it under his nose to sniff again. There were the expected notes of cherry, chocolate, and bay leaf that were all normal for Pavetta’s preferred merlot. But there was also something else, a bitterness beyond what the tannins should cause. “It doesn’t smell right. I think it may be poisoned,” he said.

And immediately wished he hadn’t, because Calanthe’s face hardened in a way that spoke of a long, drawn-out death for the poisoner. The Queen glared down at the serving maid the guards had forced to her knees. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” The Lioness ased, her voice ice cold.

The maid trembled where she knelt, and her eyes remained fixed on the polished floor. When she spoke, her voice was weak and would have been difficult to hear without a Witcher’s mutations. “I didn’t have a choice,” she whimpered. “I had to do it.”

“Who put you up to it?” Geralt asked, ignoring the glare Calanthe shot him.

The maid shook her head. “I didn’t have a choice.” And then she said nothing else.

Calanthe snarled, but signaled the guards to take her away. Then she spared a glance for her daughter, and Geralt turned as well. Pavetta was sitting frozen in her seat, Duny hovering next to her. Her face was pale and Geralt imagined the nobles in attendance likely thought she was on the edge of hysteria, but he could see the pure fury burning in her eyes. 

Calanthe clearly saw it too, because her lips pulled up in a feral smirk that already had nearby nobles shrinking back in fear. She and Eist turned to the unenviable task of pacifying the sniveling lords and ladies of the Court. Mousesack was suddenly at Geralt’s side, taking the cup out of his hand and murmuring in his ear. “I’ll go test this while everyone is busy.” 

Geralt nodded and knelt next to Pavetta. “Have you ever seen that woman before?” Pavetta shook her head, teeth clenched. “‘Think she was put up to it by someone. But you were definitely targeted. She must have poisoned the pitcher of wine and waited for you to signal. You’re the only one at the head table who drinks wine.”

Pavetta scoffed. “Why, though? Of all the people up here to target, I’m the least valuable.”

Duny made a small wounded sound at that. “Pavetta–”

She waved him away. “It’s true, Duny. I’m the easiest target in most people’s eyes – and apparently in my drink of choice as well. But I’m not the  _ logical  _ target.” She looked up at Geralt. “Go check on Ciri. You aren’t needed for anything here and she  _ is _ a logical target.”

Geralt tensed immediately, rising and exiting the hall through the servant’s entrance to take the shortcut to Ciri’s rooms. Servers carrying heavy platters of food shrieked as he darted past, but Geralt’s mind was focused solely on his goal. Nothing but Ciri mattered.

He skidded around the corner and Ciri’s room was just down the corridor. The guards stationed in front of her door jumped to attention at his entrance. “What–?” One of them started, but Geralt moved past them and threw the doors to Ciri’s room open. 

The girl inside jerked awake with a gasp. “Geralt?” She rubbed her eyes. “What happened?”

The two guards burst in after him. “Sir? What – what’s the threat?”

“Hmm,” Geralt watched the sleepiness drain out of Ciri, fear slowly replacing it.

“What happened? Who’s hurt?”

“No one,” he reassured quickly, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. There was clearly nothing amiss here and if he hadn’t burst in, they might have had a chance of Ciri sleeping through all of this. Now?

“What happened!?” She demanded, throwing her blankets back and stomping out of bed.

“No one’s hurt.” He said again. “There’s – uh, someone tried, but it’s okay. I just...came to check on you.” Ciri frowned at him, crossing her arms. “I should...get back to them,” He finished awkwardly.

“I’m going with you.” Ciri said.

“You’re going back to bed.”

“No! I’m going with you,” she insisted.

“Ciri–” Geralt saw her drawing in breath to scream and his head abruptly reminded him that it had been lowkey throbbing all day. “Okay,” he sighed in defeat. “You’re coming with me.”

Ciri cheered, immediately happy again and Geralt would swear that he wasn’t this exhausted all the time before he’d had a Child of Surprise. As she darted forward to hug his shin, the fond smile growing on his face made him realize that he also hadn’t smiled as much before her.

“All right,” he said, “put on your shoes or your toes will freeze off.”

Once she was ready, he took her hand and led her to the Council Chambers, where he knew Calanthe would gather her family and advisors once the nobles had been appeased with ale and platitudes. 

He honestly had no excuse for bringing Ciri along, well past her bedtime, to what was essentially a war meeting to determine what to do about a threat to the royal family. But from the way Pavetta’s shoulders loosened when Ciri threw herself into her mother’s arms, Geralt decided it had been the right choice after all. Next to Pavetta, Duny did not relax, though he did reach over to stroke Ciri’s hair. Geralt rolled his shoulders and dropped into the open chair between Duny and Jaskier. He wasn’t exactly relaxed himself, even though the danger had passed. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close it had been, how his thoughts and reflexes had been sluggish from ale and if he’d reacted any later, Pavetta would be dead. Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat and focused on the feel of the wooden seat under him, the press of Jaskier’s knee against his, the  _ tap tap tap _ of Duny’s fingers against the polished table, and the soft sound of Pavetta’s breathing, slow and steady now that her daughter was in her arms.

He took stock as he grounded himself. Calanthe, Eist, and Mousesack hadn’t arrived yet, and aside from the guards stationed around the room, they were alone. Geralt should probably go help Mousesack, see if his own knowledge of poisons might help, but now that he was here, he couldn’t seem to convince his legs to move. 

It wouldn’t hurt to stay here to protect Pavetta.

It didn’t matter either way, because the doors opened for the queen at that moment, and Calanthe’s face was thunderous. Almost more concerning was the grim, infuriated look on Eist’s normally cheerful face.

“Oh fuck, what now?” Jaskier asked.

“Before she could be questioned further, the assassin killed herself.” Eist responded. He paced the room, too restless to sit, and Calanthe was flexing her fingers, clearly longing for a sword. “We don’t know how.”

“What?”

“It was some sort of magic,” Calanthe snarled. “Her body – what’s left of it – has been set aside for Mousesack to examine. You should take a look as well, Witcher.” He nodded jerkily, but still couldn’t seem to move. Calanthe was no longer paying him any attention anyway, her focus solely on Pavetta. “You’re not shaken up after that incident at the table, are you?”

Pavetta’s eyes narrowed, but she took a deep breath and stroked Ciri’s hair. “I’m fine. Do we know anything else?”

The tense silence was answer enough, and they waited for Mousesack for long minutes like that, everyone on edge and ready for a fight. Then Ciri yawned widely, and it was like a spell had been lifted. Shoulders relaxed and fists unclenched and Geralt wasn’t alone in finding himself smiling at the child. 

Mousesack arrived then, and bowed his head to them. “Your majesties.”

“Was it poisoned?”

“It was. Nightshade. It is fortunate Geralt caught it in time – it’s effects are,” He eyed Ciri, “unpleasant.” He carefully didn’t say any more, but Geralt could fill in the gaps anyway – death would have been slow and drawn out – disorientation, hallucinations, convulsions, and finally a sleeping death until the body faded away. For someone to attempt to bring that on Pavetta... Geralt’s fingers itched for a sword and a target.

“Any clues as to who might have done this?” Geralt asked.

Mousesack shook his head. “Nightshade grows commonly in any woodland. In towns near the forests, mothers have to teach their children not to eat the black berries it grows. There is no cure if curious fingers pluck the wrong fruit.”

Several eyes darted to Jaskier, and he had the gall to blink back at them. “What?”

Geralt shook his head, trying not to think about all the times Jaskier had wandered off the road in search of snacks. Even after all these years, Jaskier could still only identify safe plants about every 1 in 4 times. Those were not odds Geralt enjoyed. He grunted. “What about the assassin?”

“Ah,” Mousesack took a seat. “That gets far more complicated. The assassin essentially created a portal within her own body, destroying herself.” He hesitated for a moment and then met Calanthe’s eyes. “To my knowledge, only mages are trained to create portals from the air. To get more information at this point, we will need to speak to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.”

“Do we have any idea why they targeted me?” Pavetta asked. “It’s not a strategic choice – even if Mother and Eist died, the crown would pass to Duny, not to me. And Ciri is our heir, but she wasn’t attacked, thankfully.” She wrapped her arm around Ciri, who had decided that her mother’s lap was the best place to curl up. “So if it’s not strategic – what, does that mean it’s personal?”

“Not necessarily,” Mousesack said, stroking his beard. “But that is a line of investigation we should pursue. As is the magic. Since the poison can be found anywhere and we cannot yet identify the assassin, the magic is all we have to go on.” He looked to Calanthe. 

She sighed heavily. “We haven’t had contact with the Brotherhood since my father broke ties.” Calanthe watched Ciri snuggle into Pavetta’s lap. “But this attack cannot go unanswered and we need information. Send a message tomorrow,” she ordered, “but make it very clear that we are only interested in their assistance with this investigation. I will not have a mage with mixed loyalties in my court.” Mousesack nodded.

Eist stopped pacing to place his hands on Calanthe’s shoulders, digging in with his fingers. “It’s been a long night for all of us. We have all the information we can get for now. I’d recommend we all get some sleep and continue planning in the morning.”

There were nods around the table and the scratch of chairs against the floor as they rose. Pavetta hiked Ciri up onto her hip and took Duny’s hand with her free one. All except the two guards assigned to the Queen and King followed after her, to station themselves around her chambers for the evening.

Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “If you want to go see the body or whatever, go ahead, but I’m gonna pass.” He stood and stretched, and Geralt’s eyes automatically noticed the way his chemise rode up.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted and turned to Mousesack. “You need anything? With the poison or anything else?”

Mousesack covered his yawn politely. “Not that cannot wait until morning. But it would be good to get a second verification on the poison, and I imagine we may need several opinions on the body.”

Geralt nodded. He’d take a look in the morning then. For now, he nodded to Calanthe and Eist – who were murmuring to each other and may not have noticed – and guided Mousesack and Jaskier out of the room. 

They parted from Mousesack at his quarters and continued on to what were officially Jaskier’s quarters, but Geralt had refused to have his own assigned room in a castle, so they were really both of their quarters. 

Jaskier was unusually quiet as he went about his sleep preparations, but before Geralt could worry – well, more than he already did – the bard turned to him. 

“You didn’t even check on me, after the poisoning” Jaskier pouted, though Geralt could see the shadow of amusement in his eyes. He was doing this for the drama of it.

Of course he was. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “The first thing you do after a fight is take stock of yourself. It may not have involved blades, but if I’d been slower…” he trailed off, berating himself for letting himself get so intoxicated that he might not have reached Pavetta in time. “It felt like a fight. Of course I knew where you were.”

Jaskier blinked. “So, you’re saying you  _ did _ check on me, but it was so fast I wouldn’t notice? Wow, real romantic, Geralt.”

“I’m saying,” Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled the bard into his lap, “that when I take stock of myself, I check on you. I check on Ciri, if she’s around.”

Jaskier grinned and draped his arms over Geralt’s shoulders. “It’s adorable that you think you don’t check on every single person in this family the moment anything happens. You even check on Calanthe, and I know you spend 70% of your time wanting to punch her.”

...it probably wasn’t  _ seventy  _ percent. Maybe 65.

She was just very... _ irritating.  _

“If you’re going to insist we’re too alike again, please don’t.” Geralt nudged his nose under Jaskier’s chin to get him to tilt his head up. Then Geralt had free access to bite along the underside of his jaw.

Jaskier’s voice was surprisingly steady considering the shiver Geralt could feel. “You really are, though. Which is why I know that both of you are thinking about how best to protect Pavetta.”

Geralt huffed against Jaskier’s skin. That was hardly a brilliant deduction, and at the moment, he was mostly thinking about the weight of Jaskier in his lap and the taste of him against his tongue.

Jaskier wove his fingers through Geralt’s hair and tugged lightly. “Pay attention. Calanthe’s gonna want to send Pavetta away, and obviously Duny won’t leave her. And I know Calanthe’s knights are the best, but they’re not you.” Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes. “Can you go with them? Keep them safe?”

“Rather be tracking down the ones behind it.” 

“I know. But the important thing is keeping Pavetta safe. And she and Duny trust you – you’re already raising Ciri together! I just think she’d feel safer with you there and I know  _ I  _ would feel better knowing you were protecting them.”

Geralt grunted. “What about the investigation?”

“If you honestly think Calanthe will leave a single stone unturned, then you haven’t been paying attention.” Jaskier leaned their foreheads together. “Just please, wherever Calanthe decides to send Pavetta, please go with her?”

Geralt sighed, breath blowing against Jaskier’s face. “Fine.” Then he tilted backwards onto the bed, pulling Jaskier down onto his chest. “Since I’m apparently leaving soon…” he started.

Jaskier smirked. “I am more than delighted to make your goodbye memorable.”

Geralt’s scalp prickled as Jaskier tugged on his hair and Geralt pulled Jaskier down for a heated kiss. Jaskier responded eagerly, licking into his mouth. He held Geralt’s head in place by his hair and kissed him fiercely until Geralt could feel a moan rumbling in his chest. Jaskier wiggled in his grasp until their hips aligned and they rocked leisurely against each other as they kissed.

Geralt could kiss Jaskier for an eternity. The bard’s reputation in the bedroom was very well earned, and his silver tongue was good for much more than singing. Geralt sighed in content as Jaskier dragged that tongue over his stubble and sucked on his jaw. 

“Gonna miss you,” Jaskier murmured against his skin before he sucked Geralt’s earlobe into his mouth. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted.

“Seriously? Our last night for a month and you can’t even manage to say that much!?” Jaskier pulled back to look down at him judgingly.

“Words are hard,” Geralt grumbled and flipped them over, smirking in satisfaction when Jaskier’s legs automatically wrapped around his waist. Geralt kissed Jaskier hungrily, then growled in his ear, “I could show you.”

Jaskier shivered and Geralt could feel it along every point of contact between them. He nudged Jaskier’s head up again so that he could nip along the underside of his jaw. Geralt could feel the vibrations as Jaskier moaned and he tucked his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck to scent him. He nuzzled along Jaskier’s collarbone and into his chest hair, exposed by the low cut chemises Jaskier scandalously wore. Jaskier’s hands wove through through Geralt’s hair, scratching softly at his scalp. 

“It’ll be empty without you here,” Jaskier said because he loved to hear his own voice. Geralt pushed his chemise up his chest and mouthed along the surprisingly defined muscles. “It’s been six years since I’ve stayed in Cintra without you for any significant period of time. It’ll be strange to sleep alone.”

Geralt snorted. “Doubt you’ll want for eager companions.”

“Well, yes, but you know what I mean. This is  _ our _ room more than it is mine now. It’ll be weird not to have you here.”

Geralt hummed and flicked his tongue across Jaskier’s nipple. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping alone either – and unlike Jaskier, he wouldn’t have anyone else he could stay with. Somehow he doubted Duny and Pavetta would like a Witcher interloper in their bed. Co-parents they may be, but Duny and Pavetta were  _ happy _ together in a way Geralt would rather die than ruin. 

Not that he wanted to sleep in their bed. And at the moment, he had his bard laid out beneath him; there was little room for other thoughts. Geralt leaned up to take Jaskier’s mouth in a deep kiss. When Jaskier was panting and starry eyed, Geralt got up to strip out of his clothes. Following his lead, Jaskier shucked his trousers with speed that spoke to his extensive experience in getting both in and out of them in a hurry. Geralt chuckled to himself and bent to remove his boots.

“Now you’re just going slow on purpose to mess with me,” Jaskier pouted. “Get up here.”

Just to be a dick, Geralt moved even slower. When the last piece of clothing finally hit the floor, Jaskier made grabbing motions with his hands, an exaggerated moue on his face. Geralt smirked and knelt at the end of the bed to prepare himself instead.

“My mouth is  _ right here.”  _ Jaskier’s pout grew even more overemphasized. “You could at least give me a good view.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. This was not the part he intended to drag out, so before Jaskier could whine again, Geralt pushed him flat to the bed and swung his legs over Jaskier’s hips. 

“Oh,” Jaskier put his hands on Geralt’s thighs as he began to move. “Yes, this works too.”

“You never shut up,” Geralt groaned and Jaskier sent him a shit-eating grin. Just for that, Geralt was going to draw this out half the night until he had Jaskier sobbing and incoherent underneath him. Witchers didn’t need much sleep after all. 

Geralt smirked down at Jaskier and got to work.

––

Calanthe woke up in a foul mood, and it didn’t look to be getting any better. There were no further answers or developments in the investigation of the assassination attempt on Pavetta – not that she’d expected any, but it was irritating, to be stuck in place while her daughter’s life hung in the balance. 

Eist came up behind her and kissed her shoulder where it met her neck. “Maybe we should spar before the meeting?”

If they tried, she’d probably take Eist’s head off. “Later,” she grunted, jaw tense.

“Breathe, Calanthe.” He murmured in her ear. “If you go to the council meeting like this, you’ll just end up yelling at Pavetta – and you know she hates that.”

Calanthe ground her teeth together. It’s not as if she  _ wanted _ to yell at her daughter. She certainly didn’t enjoy seeing her daughter flinch minutely away whenever her voice rose – only her natural volume was just  _ loud.  _ She didn’t know how  _ not _ to bellow. She wasn’t even sure when Pavetta had started flinching away. It wasn’t as if Calanthe had been any quieter during her childhood. 

Maybe it was around the time she forced her daughter into an arranged marriage that only  _ just _ failed to happen. Or maybe it was around the time Pavetta started sneaking out to see a hedgehog. 

Whenever it started, Calanthe wished it would stop. She missed when she and her daughter did anything but argue. She had vowed to herself to do better with Pavetta after the banquet, and she’d thought Ciri might make it better – with both of them focused on the child, surely they could learn to work with each other again.

It sort of worked, at first. Right up until they disagreed about the best way to raise Ciri. The first argument had been over something inconsequential, but at the time, it had seemed worth picking the fight. And the second one. And the third. And – well, she didn’t know what they were at now, but it was probably in the triple digits.

Why couldn’t Pavetta understand that she was just trying to help? Had she really failed that badly as a mother?

Eist squeezing her shoulders snapped her back to the moment, and if he’d been anyone else, she would have attacked him the moment he startled her. But he was Eist, and he was the one person Calanthe could truly trust and let down her guard around. 

She grunted in question.

“Council meeting shortly,” Eist said. “Mousesack was going to contact the Brotherhood early this morning. He should have something to report.”

That got Calanthe moving better than anything else would have. She wanted to know who would  _ dare _ threaten her family and she wanted to make an example of them so no other would ever try.

Eist walked a half-step behind her, his silly way of showing deference to his queen. Calanthe would be lying if she said she didn’t like that, the way he never tried to claim her power. He even forwent a crown. He was king in name, but all knew that Cintra was led by her Queen.

The guards outside the council chamber bowed to her and scrambled to open the doors. There were more of them than was usual, and she looked assessingly over the extra guards she’d assigned to Pavetta. They would each carry out their duty, but there were too many ways a dedicated assassin could get past them. Calanthe dug her fingernails into her palm and strode over to her chair. The council – consisting of Pavetta, Duny, Mousesack, her Knight Commander Danek, and her Spy Master Marzanna – had risen when she’d entered and she nodded for them to be seated. Mousesack had brought the Witcher with him, and where Geralt of Rivia went, Julian followed like a lovesick puppy. Said lovesick puppy smiled grimly at her from across the table as they got down to business.

“Report,” Calanthe ordered. Mousesack would usually go last, since as her castle’s healer, his daily reports tended to be less urgent. When there was an immediate issue, he updated her in the moment. Now was different, though; Mousesack was the only magic user in her court, and sorcerers would at least permit messages from others with magic, even if they looked down on druids.

The tense set of Mousesack’s shoulders did not bode well. “The Brotherhood agreed the matter needed investigation. However, they have to meet amongst themselves to decide what their response will be.”

Calanthe gnashed her teeth. Fucking typical. As if she would wait for them to find their own ass when her daughter’s life was at stake. “The threat is present  _ now.  _ We won’t wait for them.”

Mousesack nodded. “I expressed that you would likely say as much. I was assured they will get back to us ‘as soon as possible’.” 

She hadn’t previously known that Mousesack’s voice could be that snide. “What else? Witcher, did you get anything from the body?”

Geralt grunted. “She died from the portal, and Mousesack was right that only mages are trained to use them. Not sure if it was intentional suicide or an escape attempt gone wrong, but which it was could tell us something. If it was an accident, they might be relatively untrained. Someone like that would be both more and less of a threat.”

Calanthe nodded. “‘The best swordsman does not fear the second best. She fears the worst, for they are unpredictable and untrained.’” There was no reason for Pavetta to look mildly impressed that she could quote basic tactics. There was also no reason for impressing Pavetta to make something warm grow in her chest. She cleared her throat. “Is there a way for us to determine that without the Brotherhood?”

The witcher shook his head.

“We need a representative to come to Cintra, then. Fuck.” Eist half smiled at her swear and that little bit of levity gave her the strength to turn to her Spy Master. “Whoever they send, keep constant watch on them. If the Brotherhood decides to use this as an opportunity to further their own agenda, we need to know before it becomes an issue.”

Marzanna bowed her head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Danek,” she turned to her knight commander, “I trust you’ve strengthened our defenses?”

Her most loyal knight nodded. “We’ve adjusted guard shifts to ensure that there are men to watch Princess Pavetta at all times. We have every entrance to the castle covered, and Mousesack has lent his magic to some defenses.” He frowned and met her eyes. “But if we let our enemy portal in through the front door, we have little chance.”

Pavetta, who did not look at all delighted by the additional guards, crossed her arms. “You cannot truly think the Brotherhood of Sorcerers wishes me dead. They have no possible motive, and more to lose than to gain.”

She wasn’t wrong. Cintra and the Brotherhood had cut ties decades ago, and Calanthe spared them relatively little thought. It would be foolish of them to make an attempt on Pavetta’s life and earn her ire – and her armed response.

Nonetheless, “Pavetta, I think you should go into hiding.” Calanthe could already see Pavetta’s hackles rising and held her hand out to stop her. “An isolated location would mean fewer guards.”

Pavetta closed her mouth to consider that, but before she could say anything, Julian jumped in. “I think Geralt should go with her as a guard.” He turned to Pavetta, “if it’s just you and Duny and Geralt, that’s not as bad, right? And,” now he met Calanthe’s eyes, “we all know that Geralt would do everything possible to protect her, and for a witcher, that’s a better promise than 50 guards.”

Calanthe raised her eyebrow. That was overselling him quite a bit – and from the expression on the Witcher’s face, he agreed – but there was truth to it. 

“Pavetta could pick a location and only share it with them,” Eist suggested. “If you leave right away, then there’s no chance the Brotherhood’s representative could pluck your location from anyone’s mind.”

Fuck, that’s right, mages could read minds. Calanthe knew she’d been forgetting something. Thank gods for Eist always guarding her back. 

“What about Ciri?” Pavetta asked.

What  _ about  _ Ciri? Obviously she would go wherever Pavetta wanted her to. Calanthe looked at her daughter blankly and Pavetta’s frown deepened.

The hedgehog put his hand on Pavetta’s arm. “She could stay here with the governess and nursemaids. That way her studies won’t be interrupted.”  _ And it might be nice to get a break from the screaming little terror,  _ he didn’t say, but his face clearly portrayed. 

Honestly, Calanthe had been hoping they might take her for a similar reason. Ciri was an absolutely dear child, but she sure had a set of lungs on her. She would have no trouble making herself heard on the battlefield.

“And how long do you plan to hide me out of the way?” Pavetta demanded.

What was she talking about? “This is for your safety! Whether you take Ciri with you or leave her here,  _ you _ must be protected until it is safe.” 

Pavetta’s eyes scanned the room as she thought. “I get to choose the location, anywhere I think will be safe?”

“Within reason.”

She snorted. “You won’t know, though, will you? Or the ever-so-threatening Brotherhood could read your mind.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.” Calanthe grit out.

“It’s  _ my _ life. And I don’t intend to live it in isolation! I will only agree to go if you agree to a firm time limit. If you can’t find whoever is behind this within a month, then you drop it and I return  _ without _ extra guards.” Pavetta’s jaw was set and her stare was nonnegotiable.

“Fine,” She agreed. A month was plenty of time, and she didn’t actually want her daughter to be away for very long, despite what Pavetta seemed to think. Why could they never seem to communicate these days?

“Great!” Julian broke in, and Calanthe turned her glare on him. Unfortunately, after the better part of two decades, he was immune. “So why don’t we let Pavetta choose her location and whether to bring Ciri? And maybe the rest of us take a quick temper break?” 

Calanthe growled, but Eist, damn him, was on Julian’s side. “Excellent suggestion! It will give Mousesack a chance to reach out to the Brotherhood again. Why don’t we go spar?” 

His eyes were so damn earnest and Calanthe felt her jaw softening. It would be nice to hit something with her sword. And Eist always kept a fight interesting. Not to mention the opportunity to manhandle him. 

Calanthe nodded sharply and dismissed the council with a wave. “Tell me as soon as you decide.” She said to Pavetta before shoving out of her chair and leading Eist out to the training grounds.

As she rolled her shoulders and stretched, Calanthe was glad for the sword in her hand, even if it was blunted for training. It felt  _ right,  _ holding a weapon to face whatever came her way. With a sword, she could  _ fight.  _ If only her enemies could all be found on the battlefield.

Once Eist gave her the signal, she charged. There were times it made tactical sense to stay back and wait for the first offensive, but Calanthe was a straight forward person – if her problem couldn’t be solved with a sword, she would try anyway. 

Eist ducked her first swing, then caught her next one with a crosscut, and drove her back a step. She kicked at his legs in return and charged again, coming at him full force. Eist pushed her sword away with his and came in close to headbutt her. Calanthe stumbled back, the taste of iron flooded her mouth, and Eist followed, slashing across her torso. She regained her footing in time to leap back to avoid the slice, and brought her sword to guard in front of her. She grinned ferally at Eist with bloody teeth and she could see the way he lost focus for a moment instead of following through on his attack.

Calanthe took advantage, lunging forward to smack his sword out of the way and ram her shoulder into his chest, driving him back. Combined with a leg hooked around his ankle, Eist went tumbling to the ground. She planted her foot on his right wrist, pinning his sword down. She leveled her sword at his neck, pressing the tip lightly against his skin, just enough to be felt without piercing skin. 

Eist bared his neck willingly, tipping his chin back. His breath was coming in fast pants and his eyes were dilated. He liked this position as much as she did.

Her eyes followed when his tongue swiped over his lip, and she drew the sword lightly up the underside of his chin.

“Calanthe,” he murmured and with the adrenaline simmering in their blood, they both knew there was only one way this spar would be ending.

“Bedroom.  _ Now,”  _ she growled, and lifted her sword away from his throat.

Eist swallowed audibly and she offered him an arm to pull to his feet. They grinned at each other, blood still covering Calanthe’s teeth, and hurried towards their chambers. Unfortunately, because this week was just going like that, Pavetta chose that moment to stride down the corridor towards them. 

Calanthe swore and growled in Eist’s ear. “Go get prepared. I’ll be there shortly.”

Eist winked at her and nodded to Pavetta as he walked past her. 

Calanthe wiped the blood from her lips and took a deep breath to gain control over herself. “Pavetta,” she said when Pavetta drew close. Pavetta wrinkled her nose, which probably meant Calanthe had only smeared the blood across her face. “You’ve chosen a location?”

“I have.” Pavetta pointedly didn’t say more and Calanthe ground her teeth together.

“When can you be prepared to leave?”

“I need to speak with Geralt, but likely before midday.”

“Right,” Calanthe nodded awkwardly, not really sure what else to stay. Pavetta sighed as if Calanthe had disappointed her and turned away. 

She would be gone for a month. Calanthe couldn’t let her leave like this. “Pavetta, wait.” Her daughter turned to her with eyebrows raised, her arms crossed defensively in front of her. Calanthe forced herself to push all thought of Eist out of her head for a moment and focused solely on Pavetta. “Be careful,” She said. “Even with a Witcher for a bodyguard–” Calanthe licked her lips. “I could not stand losing you.”

Pavetta jerked in surprise and Calanthe mourned that they’d gotten to the point where that was shocking. Slowly, Pavetta nodded her head. “I’ll be careful.”

She turned to go and Calanthe caught her wrist, pulling her into a stiff hug. “I will see you in a month,” she said, trying to put all the ways she would miss her daughter into her voice.

Whether she succeeded or not, Pavetta relaxed into her arms for a moment before pulling back. “I should go talk to Geralt,” she said, though her eyes stayed focused on Calanthe and her brow creased as if Calanthe had done something outside all her expectations. “I’ll let you know what we decide about Ciri.”

Calanthe nodded again, and before the moment could grow any more awkward, Pavetta bustled off towards the Witcher.

Calanthe flexed her fingers, somehow feeling even more unsettled and frenetic than before. She strode through the hallways with quick steps and anyone who came near her carefully moved out of her path.

Finally, she was slamming into her bedroom and Eist was waiting for her, sitting nude in her receiving room. He opened his mouth to greet her, but took a second look at her face and strode forward to kiss her softly instead. That was one thing she loved about him – he knew her better than any other and he knew what she needed without having to be asked. She took control of the iron-tanged kiss and shoved him up against the back of the couch. Eist easily leaned back with her push, relying on her hold to resist gravity as he scrabbled at her clothing. The urgent press of his fingers matched her energy and she stepped back when he finally got her dress open. 

The garment puddled on the floor and she kicked it away impatiently. Eist bent over the couch, presenting himself to her and she grabbed the toy Eist had left out that let her take him. She was rough with him, and Eist leaned into it. She never had to be careful around Eist – when he didn’t fight back against her just as hard, he was absolutely eager for it. Which was good, because Calanthe was not in a frame of mind where she could be gentle. 

“Come on, Calanthe,” Eist taunted. “You can do better than that.”

She shoved forward harshly and bit along the back of his neck, renewing bruises that had started to fade. “I’ll show you better,” she snarled.

His tease was the last full sentence Eist managed to form, reduced to silence as he was overwhelmed with sensation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calanthe paraphrases a Mark Twaine quote: Don’t you know, there are some things that can beat smartness and foresight? Awkwardness and stupidity can. The best swordsman in the world doesn’t need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn’t do the thing he ought to.  
> -Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889)
> 
> Danek is the knight who advises Calanthe in Eps 1 and 7, and Marzanna is the name I gave to the lady who accompanied Calanthe when she entered the banquet in Ep 4.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pavetta decides where to hide out, and the Brotherhood of Sorcerers sends a representative to Cintra.

Pavetta knocked hesitantly on Geralt and Jaskier’s door. Jaskier opened it and Pavetta could see Geralt packing his things behind him. 

“Oh, Pavetta! Have you decided then?” She bit her lip and nodded. “Well, I’ll just give you two some privacy to discuss it then.” He held his hand up to his face and faux whispered to her, “don’t let him give you a hard time if he thinks the place isn’t secure enough. He always plans for the absolute worst, but he’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” Pavetta said. Jaskier smiled in delight, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then cartwheeled down the corridor. She shook her head at him and stepped into their room, seating herself in a chair near Geralt. “I used to think he would grow up with age. But he really hasn’t has he?”

“Not in the slightest,” Geralt responded with a longsuffering look.

She giggled. “I wanted to ask if you had a preference about Ciri.” He blinked at her in confusion, as if he’d never expected his opinion to matter. Well, that just wouldn’t do. “You’re Ciri’s Father of Surprise. You have a say in her life and her part in your’s.”

Geralt cleared his throat. “I have no idea how to take care of a child. And there won’t be servants, so it’s really just you and Duny who would handle her.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting around the room. “You...seem like you could use a break.”

She could help her huff of laughter at that. “You’re not wrong.” She bit back a yawn at the thought of all the interrupted sleep and stress Ciri tended to cause. She loved her child dearly and wouldn’t change a thing – but her screams were awfully shrill and Pavetta’s ears ached with the memory. “I’m leaning towards keeping her here, but I wanted to check with you.” She bit her lip. “The place I chose, it has a megascope. I figured we could use it to keep in touch with everyone here.

Geralt nodded. “That will be useful. I want to know what’s happening with the investigation, and I bet you do too?” He cocked an eyebrow and Pavetta nodded emphatically. “Then I’ll let Mousesack and Jaskier know we’ll contact them. Are there enough places with megascopes that the Queen won’t immediately know where we are?”

“Hmm,” Pavetta tilted her head. “There are a few places, but it wouldn’t be impossible to narrow down, if someone knows my preferences.” She carefully didn’t say whether she thought her mother could figure it out or not. Eist probably could.

Geralt nodded. “Then we will want to know when the Brotherhood plans to send someone, so we can make contact after they decide whether the mage can be trusted or not.”

“Mother is hurrying us to leave as soon as possible, so I think she believes they’re getting close to an agreement. Is there anything you need to do here before we head out?”

He shook his head. “How many days will we be traveling?”

“About a day and a half. There’s an inn we could stay at, but I’m also comfortable camping, if we need to.” And she was. Mostly. She just also preferred the option of a hot bath at the end of the day.

Geralt inclined his head. “Camping would be more secure.” He glanced at her, “I believe Mousesack is able to enchant a tent, if you need.”

A smile tugged at her lips at his awkward way of trying to offer her luxury. “Thank you. I’m sure I can survive one night. We’ll be staying in a small house once we get there, and it’s totally isolated, so we’ll want to make sure we bring supplies. There will be plenty of fishing, though. And water.” she grinned, picturing the island retreat her family owned. When she said totally isolated, she definitely meant it. 

The beach house, located further south than the capital and off the coast of Cintra, required sailing just to get to it, so Pavetta felt confident they could keep it secure. The only potential downside was being stuck alone on a tiny island with Duny and Geralt for an entire month. There were several activities to do around the beach, of course, but Pavetta felt her nervousness was reasonable. She and Duny had never really gotten to have a honeymoon, so this felt like an opportunity to make up for lost time. But Geralt would also be there, and even after 6 years, Pavetta wasn’t sure how Geralt fit into her life. He was another of Ciri’s parents, he was Jaskier’s partner, and by this point he was family, but there was still something awkward between them, like they couldn’t quite bring their full selves.

“I’ll go talk to the kitchens and get provisions, then,” Geralt’s voice rumbled in her ear and Pavetta abruptly remembered where she was.

“Wonderful,” she smiled. “Don’t forget to give Ciri time to say goodbye to you. I’m going to talk to her now.”

“I hope she doesn’t scream,” Geralt said under his breath and Pavetta privately agreed. 

Ciri  _ did _ scream, interrupting her entire class’s lesson with the tutor. The other children looked delighted by the show and Pavetta sighed. She felt guilty for looking forward to having time away from her daughter, even though she knew she would miss Ciri immediately. 

Pavetta took Ciri by the hand and corralled the hollering child into the castle gardens. This was Pavetta’s favorite spot in Cintra, and it was actually where she’d met Duny – he’d snuck into the castle to meet her and had quite literally tripped over her. But she’d truly fallen for him when he’d looked at her with such awe as she spoke about her reading and her studies.

Her mother had never been interested when she talked about the stuff she was researching.If it wasn’t about fighting or ruling the kingdom, Calanthe didn’t have much time for her daughter’s interests.

Pavetta didn’t want to repeat that mistake with Ciri. But as much as she wanted Ciri to feel free to express herself, the screaming was really getting excessive. She’d have to talk to Geralt and Duny about ideas to teach Ciri some control.

For now, she plucked a chrysanthemum and knelt in front of Ciri, trying to distract her with something new. It only partially worked – Ciri still pouted fiercely, but she did accept the flower, holding it up to her nose. The distraction seemed to calm her, and she looked up at Pavetta.

“Do you have to leave?”

Pavetta combed her hand through Ciri’s hair. “Yesterday, someone threatened me. I’m leaving so that Geralt can keep me safe.” She booped Ciri on the nose. “And you’re staying here so your studies can continue –  _ without _ screaming, please? I know you get frustrated and angry, but when you yell, you hurt other people.”

“Do not.”

“Yes, you do. Think about Geralt – your Father of Surprise has enhanced hearing. Your screaming quite literally hurts him.” Ciri’s forehead creased as she thought about that and Pavetta continued, “But that’s not the only way someone can be harmed. When you do something loud or sudden, it can frighten people. How about we think about things you can do instead of scream?”

“I guess,” Ciri played with the stem of the flower, twisting it around her fingers.

“Why don’t you work on that while I’m gone?” Pavetta suggested. “Come up with five things you can do instead when you feel like screaming. Test them out and see how you like them. I’m sure Mousesack and Eist would be delighted to help you come up with ideas.”

“How long are you gonna be gone?” 

Pavetta bit her lip. “A month.” She took Ciri’s hands in hers. “It will feel like a long time. But I’m going to contact you whenever I can. And you have so many people here who love you. When you want me, call for them and they’ll come running.”

Ciri threw her arms around Pavetta, and she almost fell over trying to balance them. But she wrapped her arms tightly around Ciri and let herself burn this moment into her memory. She had a feeling she’d be coming back to it quite a lot in the coming weeks.

––

Afternoon audiences had only just begun when the mage arrived. Eist was sitting in his customary seat, left and slightly back from Calanthe’s throne. On a usual day, he’d be joined by Duny next to him and Pavetta and Ciri on the other side of Calanthe. Well, theoretically Ciri joined them. She had an honorary seat, but in actuality, the five year old could not be trusted not to throw a screaming fit in the throne room. Instead, Ciri was in her lessons with the other children living in the castle and Eist hoped she wasn’t being too much of a terror. She could certainly be a handful.

Especially since her three parents had left a few hours ago. Ciri was not at all pleased at being separated. They hadn’t received any reports from her governess that she’d had a meltdown yet, at least. 

Instead of a fussy child, the audience chamber was stuck with one bored bard. Jaskier didn’t have his lute, fortunately, but he was hanging around the edges of the room with the other observers. Since Jaskier tended to avoid public events when he wasn’t playing, Eist was pretty sure he was only here for the gossip. 

So far, he hadn’t gotten much. The first few audiences had been fairly straightforward, the kinds of simple-to-resolve issues that bored Calanthe. He could see her fingers tapping on the arm of her throne and decided that after the next person, he would suggest a break.

He never got the chance, as the next audience was delayed when Mousesack strode in with an imposing woman who must be the mage. She wore a monochrome dress that made her look stark and out of place amongst the bright colors of Cintran court. 

“Announcing Mousesack, Advisor to the Lioness, Queen Calanthe of Cintra,” the herald said and Eist knew Calanthe was rolling her eyes at the pomp and circumstance of it all, “and Yennefer of Vengerberg, Court Mage of King Virfuril of Aedirn, Representative of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.”

Mousesack bowed his head to Calanthe, and Yennefer of Vengerberg curtsied, as Eist vaguely remembered was proper etiquette in Aedirn. Calanthe cocked an eyebrow and waited for the mage to speak first.

“Queen Calanthe, I am here to represent the Brotherhood of Sorcerers upon your request. I understand you believe your assassin may be a mage?” Yennefer’s address was calm and composed, but Eist could sense there was something wild hiding behind the facade. He wondered what sort of politics the Brotherhood had and how Yennefer had come to be their representative.

“Unless you have mages going around teaching others how to make a portal from thin air,” Calanthe said blandly. 

Yennefer’s eyes narrowed and with a jolt, Eist realized that they were an unearthly shade of violet that seemed to glow with an inner light. It made Eist shiver. Did all mages have eyes like that? He’d never actually met one before – druids were the primary magic users in Skellige and, like most Northerners, the Brotherhood’s politics had never been interested in the ‘grumpy and feral Islanders’.

“Hmm,” Yennefer hummed dismissively and Eist could see the way his wife’s hands clenched on her throne, muscles tensing in preparation for a fight. “If I may examine the body, then we shall soon know.”

Calanthe regarded her for a long moment. Then she stood and announced an end to audiences for the day. Cintra was hosting a diplomatic guest from Aedirn, so obviously, they would need to host a feast tonight. Since Calanthe hated feasts in which she had to behave and leave her knives sheathed, Eist knew the menu for tonight was going to feature all of Cintra’s most unique – and most fragrant – tropical fruit exports. His stomach rolled at the thought and he made a note to send for regular food to be set aside for Ciri.

Although, Ciri was a native Cintran. Maybe she’d like the fruits more than he did. Cintrans usually did – he’d thought Calanthe’s habit of serving disgusting smelling dishes was pure punishment for everyone, but the locals actually scarfed it up. They claimed it tasted good. Eist still thought that any fruit affectionately nicknamed“vomit fruit” should not be eaten. He wondered which camp – Jaskier had dubbed them “fuck no” and “surprisingly yum” – the mage would fall under. If she could stomach the fruit Calanthe challenged her with, she’d definitely earn Calanthe’s respect.

Yennefer watched the chaos as that broke out at the Queen’s order and she frowned in confusion, just for a moment before adopting her polite facade once more. As the clamor of everyone vacating the audience chamber began to fade, Yennefer cleared her throat. “And the body, Your Majesty?”

Calanthe smiled her polite smile, which only made her look a little bit threatening – unlike her usual grin, which lesser men had shrunk back from in fear. It was Eist’s favorite expression of her’s.

“Of course,” Calanthe motioned for the mage to walk beside her.

As they left the audience chamber, Eist knew that one of their spies must have detached from the main group of nosy spectators to join them, but he couldn’t spot her. Jaskier, on the other hand, was quite east to spot as he openly waltzed up to their group and joined them without a thought for propriety. That was one of the things Eist liked about Jaskier, honestly – he always behaved as if he wasn’t aware that decorum existed and that wherever he went, he would be welcome. Unless he was occupied with a job, Jaskier always seemed to forget that he didn’t want to be part of Cintran politics, and therefore that he wasn’t supposed to approach Calanthe as an equal in plain sight.

As Calanthe’s oldest friend, Jaskier easily fell into step just behind Calanthe, next to Eist. This, Eist knew, was not because he wouldn’t happily walk next to Calanthe, but because Calanthe would intentionally walk faster until she was in the lead again if he did. 

As if to prove his point, Jaskier turned to their honored guest and asked loudly, “so, Yennefer of Vengerberg, how long have you been a mage? We don’t get many around here, you know,” he shrugged, as if Calanthe’s decision to continue her father’s policy of no contact with the Brotherhood hadn’t driven her to sleeplessness. Her own mother lived in Aretuza as a guest, and had not contacted Calanthe since. She hadn’t even come to see her great-granddaughter born.

Eist grit his teeth and forced himself to focus. Calanthe needed him to be present and ready for whatever might come at them. Whether this mage turned out to be friend or foe, they would be prepared.

“Will you  _ shut up!?”  _ Yennefer whirled on Jaskier and snarled. Instead of being intimidated, Eist could literally see the change on Jaskier’s face as potentially-interesting-guest turned to scary-pretty-mage-who-could-kill-me-with-her-pinkie. Eist knew the look all too well – he saw it in the mirror regularly enough. Jaskier had dubbed it the “heart eyes danger boner”, but Eist was pretty sure Calanthe would castrate him if he called it that himself. She hated the nicknames Jaskier gave to everything – especially to her.

It reminded Eist of the moment he’d come to realize Jaskier was not to be messed with. He’d met the bard when he was fairly young, performing at one of Calanthe’s banquets, and they’d become friendly – in no small part because Eist had to meet the man who wrote the ballad that spread Calanthe’s title as the Lioness across the continent. He’d found Jaskier fun, flirty, and flamboyant, but he hadn’t thought to add “feral” to that list until the first time he’d heard him call Calanthe “Calico-Cal” to her face and she had thrown a dagger a hair’s breadth from Jaskier’s face. The bard had continued his sentence without pause and pulled the dagger out of the wall to pick at his fingernails.

“Who even are you?” Yennefer demanded.

“Ah, I am delighted you asked, Lady Yennefer! I am the magnificent Master Jaskier, the famous bard. Perhaps you’ve heard  _ The Ballad of the White Wolf? _ Or  _ The Lioness of Cintra?” _

“Ignore him,” Calanthe told Yennefer, and the mage looked bewildered. Now that she’d dropped her courtly demeanor, Calanthe seemed to be a lot more intrigued by Yennefer. “I am more interested in why the Brotherhood decided to send a representative when they don’t believe a mage is involved.”

“We must investigate any such claim, of course,” Yennefer said. Then, apparently realizing that Calanthe preferred her to be genuine – or at least, not on ceremony – she continued, “And your druid reported that the assassin targeted your daughter. I have no doubt that you would march your army to Aretuza’s doors to demand a response if we didn’t.”

Calanthe tilted her head with a half smile, pleased with the reputation of her protectiveness and the fierceness of her response had traveled so far. Eist bit back his own smile. 

“And of course,” Yennefer continued, “this is the first occasion on which Cintra has ever reached out to the Brotherhood. Obviously we’re going to investigate – out of curiosity if nothing else.”

“Ah yes. The Brotherhood, who believe that unchecked queens lead to rebellion and massacres. Do you consider me a proving point or outlier in your beliefs?”

“Any who believe you can be classified so easily is a fool,” Yennefer shrugged, avoiding the question entirely. Eist was rather impressed. If that hint of danger he’d seen in Yennefer – the bit that Jaskier had fallen in love with – was anything like he thought it might be, then Calanthe was going to have her match in bullheadedness. Eist wasn’t sure yet if he would be spectating at the side with Jaskier or getting involved directly, but he had no doubt that there were many arguments coming in their future.

Mousesack, ever looking for peace from all of their bickering, diverted the conversation by announcing their arrival at the morgue. They entered and arranged themselves in a circle around the body of the assassin. Yennefer seemed surprised that “the magnificent Master Jaskier” was staying for this part, but she didn’t comment on it. 

Instead, she closed her eyes to focus, held her hands above the mangled body, and began to chant. A faint thrum seemed to emanate from her hands as she passed them down the remains. Her brow furrowed and a frown pulled her lips down. Yennefer chanted louder and when Eist saw Calanthe stiffen, he realized that she was chanting in Elder Speech, the language of the elves. 

In all honestly, Eist didn’t have a strong opinion about elves. He didn’t fully understand Calanthe’s rage and her crusade against them, but he would support anything Calanthe needed him to support. 

But if elves were going to be involved, the arguments he foresaw just grew a hundred times worse. Eist pressed his hand to Calanthe’s back, a silent show of faith. He would always follow her in anything she did.

By the time Yennefer stopped chanting, Calanthe was as tense as a mountain and Yennefer’s own brow was dotted with sweat. She took deep panting breaths before turning to them with a tight grip on the table to keep her steady.

Would she take offense if Eist offered her a chair?

Probably.

“Well?” Calanthe snapped.

“You were correct.” Yennefer straightened, looking down her nose at them. But her hand trembled against the table, and Eist knew it was a facade. Did magic cost her that much? When Mousesack made his illusions, it didn’t cost him so much – just a little fatigue, even for the more complex healing magic he performed. 

Yennefer licked her lips and said, “This assassin isn’t known to the Brotherhood. But your statement was actually right. They were definitely taught by a mage.”

Calanthe’s fist clenched. “And the identity of this mage?”

Yennefer shook her head. “I don’t know.” If she had looked any less troubled by this knowledge, Calanthe might have decided to cut the Brotherhood out again, but Eist was pretty sure that the shock-pale sorceress had gained Calanthe’s interest. “If – If I may have time to recover, I believe I can recover more evidence from the portal. But at the moment, I can say that this wasn’t an accident. Whoever taught them left out a key step – they were dead the moment they decided to portal.”

“Whoever hired them always intended for them to die for their crime.” Calanthe swore.

“If they were a pawn all along, then it’s likely their employer didn’t reveal much of use to them, at least. We wouldn’t have gotten much from interrogation,” Eist said.

“What do you need to recover, Sorceress?” Calanthe asked. “I want answers as soon as possible. I will not let this threat against my daughter go unanswered.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Yennefer bowed her head and revealed through clenched teeth, “just some rest, thank you. And use of your megascope to update the Brotherhood.”

Calanthe jerked her head in consent. “Mousesack will take you. I will see that a room is prepared for you.”

“I would be  _ delighted _ to show you to your room, my lady.” Jaskier butt in with an elaborate bow. Why did his flirting always get worse the more terrified he was of its target?

Yennefer wrinkled her nose. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’m sure the Druid can show me where to go.”

“Mousesack,” the druid in question said. “The druid has a name, and it is Mousesack, Mage Yennefer.”

Yennefer looked drawn aback before she flushed lightly. “My apologies. I am sure Mousesack can guide me to my room, thank you.”

“Dismissed,” Calanthe waved them away and each bowed before taking their leave. 

Jaskier, who did not bow, looked longingly after her, but he stayed put. “You look like you’re about to burst, Callie. Maybe it’s time for a spar – specifically one with your broad warrior husband, and not your innocent bard?”

Calanthe scoffed. “Don’t call me that.” Her fingers flexed, and Eist knew she longed for a sword. Now that they were alone, he stepped closer to press against her side in silent support. “Mages use Elder Speech to command magic.”

Jaskier hesitated for a moment. “You know that speaking a language does not mean supporting elves, Calanthe.  _ I  _ speak Elder.”

Calanthe’s eyes narrowed as she stared down her oldest friend. Eist held his breath without realizing it. But Calanthe stood down, nodding in conceit. “I want to know more about mages and their connection with elves.” She snapped her fingers and a spy Eist hadn’t even noticed melted out of the woodwork. “Get me all the information you can gather in the next hour.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the spy bowed and vanished.

“I still don’t know how they do that,” Jaskier said.

“That’s because you’ve never met subtlety in your life.” Calanthe sighed. “So we know the one behind the assassination attempt is ruthless. What does that get us?”

_ Nowhere, _ they all knew, but neither of them said it. Who had the motive to target Pavetta like this? Of everyone in the family, she received the fewest death threats, and those were usually for her opinions on poetry.

Eist frowned and took Calanthe’s hand in his. She squeezed back briefly and he knew they were all feeling the same sense of helplessness.

“We’ll know more after Yennefer reads the body again,” Jaskier tried to cheer them up and Calanthe grunted. 

“Until then, I have work to do. If you decide to fawn over the sorceress, keep an ear out for any hint of a threat.” She said.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I always do, don’t I?” He waved his hand in a lazy salute and bowed. “I’ll be on my way then.”

Eist squeezed Calanthe’s hand. “Back to work, then?”

She grunted and they headed back to the audience chamber.

–– 

Calanthe wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she returned to her quarters that evening, but it definitely hadn’t been her entire receiving room turned into a pillow fort.

“Ciri?” She called, suspecting who was behind the mess, “Julian?”

The bard in question popped up from between pillows near where her favorite chair used to sit. “Hey, Calanthe!” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed for giving in to Ciri’s wild ideas.

“Hi, Grandmother,” Ciri’s voice called from underneath the fort’s sheet roof.

“Julian isn’t supposed to be allowed to watch you unsupervised,” Calanthe crossed her arms. “Who else did you talk into this, Cirilla?’

There was a cough from her bedroom and Eist stepped into the doorway, large pillows tucked under each arm. “Uh...sorry?”

Calanthe sighed. “All right, how do I get into the room?”

“You gotta crawl in!” Ciri said.

They couldn’t have let her inside  _ before _ the indignity started? This corridor, at least, only held bedchambers belonging to family, but the guards stationed outside the door were doing a bad job of holding in laughter. She cocked her eyebrow at them and they immediately jumped to attention, lips sealed tight. 

“If you wouldn’t mind holding this,” Calanthe plucked the crown from her head and handed it off to the suddenly wide-eyed and open-mouthed guard on the right. She had been slightly more effective at hiding her laughter than her partner and Calanthe felt that deserved a reward. It wasn’t as if the crown made her queen, after all. 

With as much dignity as she could manage, she dropped into a crouch and made her way into the pillow fort. For some reason, they had designed a slight maze from the doorway, but eventually, she reached the wide open area padded with more pillows than she had been aware they owned. Sitting cross legged against a giant stuffed lion, the mastermind behind the rearrangement of her receiving room beamed up at Calanthe with a wide, gap-toothed grin. 

Calanthe could literally feel her heart melting. Well, the chaos had already occurred. Why shouldn’t she join in, if it would make Ciri happy? 

“Are you bringing those pillows or not, Eist?” She called and Ciri cheered. Eist pressed his smile to her cheek when he crawled in, grinning too hard to kiss her properly. Calanthe huffed in amusement. She grabbed the pillows Eist brought and constructed herself a throne, then settled into it with all the poise she could summon.

Julian snorted, but happily flopped onto the pillows next to her throne. Ciri held out her arms, as if crawling three feet was too much work, and Eist, the softie, picked her up. He plopped her down in Calanthe’s lap, and Ciri squirmed around until she was comfortable. Calanthe just started picking out Ciri’s braids.

Like he could read her mind, Eist offered Calanthe Ciri’s fine-toothed comb. It had been a gift from Eist’s side of the family and the bone was carved in the shape of a great Skelligen ship. It was a lovely gift, truly – as long as they didn’t leave Ciri alone with it, lest she break it. Like Calanthe, Ciri didn’t come by gentleness naturally. With her hands occupied combing through Ciri’s hair, Calanthe let herself relax as Jaskier and Ciri chattered about unicorns that stabbed people brutally.

Eist wiggled his way back out of the pillow fort to go fetch the final wayward member of their family. Mousesack had a tendency to lose track of time and work half the night if they didn’t remind him to take care of himself. But before long, Eist returned, Mousesack in tow. The druid gave her an amused look and settled down next to her husband. 

When Ciri yawned, Calanthe suddenly had to make an executive decision. Did she try to put the ornery child to bed in her room, or did she go all in on the pillow fort idea?

A grin pulled at her lips and Calanthe scooped Ciri up and tipped to the side until they both laid on the pillows. “I suppose we can sleep here for one night.”

“Sleepover!” Julian cheered and Ciri giggled. 

“Tell me a story?” Ciri widened her eyes at Julian, pouting exaggeratedly in a way she’d definitely learned from her uncle.

As the whole family (minus three notable exceptions) settled themselves inside their pillow fort, Jaskier took Ciri’s stabby unicorns and set them against a lion cub fighting to protect the people. The imagery was obvious, but it made Ciri smile sleepily as she curled up between Calanthe and Eist. Mousesack reached over Eist to boop Ciri on the nose. She batted at him, yawning widely. 

“Sleep, wee pup,” Eist soothed and ten stories of the victorious lion cub later, Ciri’s breathing finally evened out.

Julian let out a relieved sigh and cuddled up to Calanthe’s back. She elbowed him on principle, but she was too comfortable to both pushing him off for real. She closed her eyes to Eist’s soft smile, and let herself enjoy this feeling of safety with her family.

Calanthe would ensure Pavetta could enjoy that safety soon, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the inspiration for the [Skelligen Ship Comb](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1408/0936/products/91bAzEEAUYL._SL1500.jpg?v=1574795452)


End file.
